Red Thread of Fate
by Working-On-Sanity
Summary: The imaginary red thread of destined love was wrapping itself around James's throat. The red thread was supposed to bind him and Brock together, not pull them apart. The red thread shouldn't have let Brock cheat on his passion. The red thread lied.
1. Man's Motorway

**RED THREAD OF FATE**

**Summary: **The imaginary red thread of destined love was wrapping itself around James's throat. The red thread was supposed to bind him and Brock together, not pull them apart. The red thread shouldn't have let Brock cheat on his passion. The red thread lied.

**Author's Note: **Ugh. I'm still trying to finish the majority of the stories I had half-written before I basically quit writing fanfictions. I want to work more on original stories. Anyway, another JimShipping fiction that is _multichapter_? Something is wrong. For some reason, whenever I write something to do with JimShipping, I can write ten times faster than normal. And this is the third one... I hope all the RocketShippers that I know still don't want to kill me.

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER ONE: <strong>_Man's Motorway_

"_The red thread of destined love perhaps will be tangled, knotted, or wound with another thread, but it can never be broken."_

Although Ash wouldn't admit it aloud, he did enjoy perusing the wide selection of Pokémon merchandise that the markets offered. Despite rarely ever having enough money to even jingle in his pockets, it entertained him to imagine himself casually sauntering through the aisles of a shop, searching for a single item that would assist him in something amazing; perhaps such as capturing a legendary Pokémon.

"Hey, Brock?" Ash reached up to lightly tug at Brock's sleeve, drawing attention to his request. "Can I have five dollars?"

Brock glanced down momentarily from examining a carton of reviving powder, taking into consideration Ash's pleading expression.

"What do you want with it?" he asked, but began fumbling with his wallet before Ash could answer. Plucking a crisp bill from the overused fold, he tucked it into Ash's hand and returned the wallet to his satchel.

"Well, I saw some cookies at the counter," Ash admitted. "And Pikachu seemed to think they smelled nice, so I wanted to get a box of them for all of us to share."

From its place perched comfortably on Ash's shoulder, Pikachu yipped in approval, its short blonde ears flicking eagerly as its stiff whiskers twitched along the sides of its muzzle. Brock laughed at its zeal for the purchase of the cookies, nodding in permission as he resumed his own shopping.

"That'll be fine, Ash," he assured. "But after you get the cookies, why not go find Misty for me?"

"Sure!" Ash happily clenched the money in his hand, his face brightening with childish cheer. "Thanks, Brock!"

Turning on his heel, he scurried with one intention through the tall shelves and displays, everything dark in his vision except for the box of sugar dough cookies that loomed before him on the counter.

"Hi!" He greeted the woman who stood behind the cash register, politely lifting his baseball cap from the top of his head. "I'd like to buy these, please, ma'am."

With that announced, he possessively snatched up the cardboard carton of cookies and pushed them across the counter, watching impatiently as the girl slowly clicked a series of numbers into the bulky cash register. She was none too quick about her task as she wrestled the box into a paper bag, and when Ash at last was given his purchase, he clutched it against his chest, not wanting to advertise the chance of his prize being taken.

"Pika-pi!" Excitedly, Pikachu dug its pointed claws into Ash's shoulder for support, leaning down to nudge its soft black nose against the protruding corner of the bag. Ash giggled, gently lifting his elbow to prod Pikachu back into its place.

"Sorry, Pikachu," he apologized, "but we have to find Misty before we can eat. Knowing her, she's probably somewhere looking for Water Pokémon supplies."

Somewhat downcast, Pikachu settled itself, its rotund figure bulging as if it were a sort of ominous statue. Ash shifted his parcel of cookies to the crook of his other arm, ignoring his Pokémon's sour attitude, and began to trek through the farthest aisle of the store. As predicted, he discovered Misty's whereabouts in the expected place––sifting through a clearance pile of swimsuits and specially-baited fishing lures, humming lightly to herself as she cradled her Togepi.

"Hey! Misty!" Melodramatically, Ash swooped to her side, closing his fingers around her thin wrist and pulling her hand away from the shelf. Reeling back in shock, Togepi squawking in surprise, Misty jerked away, her green eyes swelling with indignant surprise.

"Ash!" she squealed, a thick bite of steel in her glare. "What are you doing, trying to scare me to death? I was only looking around!"

"Well," Ash said smugly, as if certain that Misty could not harm him since he came bearing a command from their guardian, "Brock wanted me to find you––I guess he needs us to come over where he is for something."

Reluctantly, Misty risked a hesitant step away from the inviting stacks of packaged fishing baits, her slim shoulders slumping in pronounced defeat as Togepi chortled.

"Fine," she muttered, sighing in reconciliation. "Show me where he is."

"Pika-chu-pi!" Pikachu giggled at this show of new submissiveness, its bristles quivering with suppressed mirth. When Misty swung her gaze up to glare at it, Pikachu lowered its ears to its scalp, digging its curved toenails into Ash's nylon jacket.

Ash, content to be leading the way for once, marched through the long rows of colorful merchandise, past the gaudy cardboard cutouts of famous Trainers and Gym Leaders, and into the aisle of Pokémon foodstuffs, in which Brock was crouched intensely studying a container of vitamin-enhanced water supplements.

"Hey, Brock!" Ash called in singsong, jerking his arm up to wave wildly; the paper bag that was tucked in the crook of his other arm rustled loudly with the motion. "I found Misty!"

To emphasize his announcement, he leaned over to grab Misty's arm, pulling her closer, but she hastened to dodge Ash's outspread fingers, quickly ducking.

Brock turned to watch as they came nearer, peering up at them as they towered above his squatting figure. "Thanks, Ash," he nonchalantly said. "I wanted you two to come over here so you can meet someone. She's over there, sitting at the front door. Fix your hat, Ash."

Following the unexpected order, Ash adjusted his baseball cap, tugging the brim down to hide his unruly black bangs. "Who are we going to meet?" he asked curiously. "I don't see anyone I know, here."

Misty appeared to be considering the option of stamping her heel onto Ash's sneaker-protected toes. "That's why we're meeting her," she explained with mock patience. "If you knew her, then we wouldn't have to meet her, then, would we?"

"I guess not," Ash answered, distraction dulling his voice as he followed Brock into the lobby of the enormous department store. His gaze scraped the crowded scene for a familiar face, and he didn't even flinch as Misty slammed one palm into his back, shoving him away so he would continue walking.

"Here they are, ma'am!" Brock beamed at the woman whom was seated on the only bench in the shopping district. Ash noticed immediately why Brock had claimed to know her; she was very pretty, with bobbed strawberry-blonde hair and merrily twinkling brown eyes.

"Hello!" the girl greeted, tilting her head as she grinned. "I guess that you two are Ash and Misty, aren't you? Brock told me a lot about you and your trip here. You sound like a very interesting group of kids."

"Thanks!" Misty accepted the compliment, hugging Togepi to her flat bosom giddily. Ash was only slightly wary of the woman's cheerfulness, but smirked anyway.

"So who are you?" he asked, politely enough to avoid having an elbow jammed into his ribs. Pikachu echoed his question in a shrill squeak, its red cheek pouches curving as its muzzle wrinkled.

"This is Whitney," Brock interrupted, as if he hoped to gain her approval by announcing her name. "She's the Gym Leader from Goldenrod City! That's not very far from here, so you'll be battling her soon, Ash."

Instantaneously, Ash's attitude melted into one of doting admiration. "Y-you're a Gym Leader?" he repeated incredulously. "I'll bet that you're _awesome_! So what Types do you use? Are you famous? How hard will it be to beat you? Do you like being a Gym Leader? What Badge will I get? How many Pokémon do you have?"

Whitney seemed dazed by the sudden spurt of excited words, but sucked in a long breath to prepare for her numerous replies. "I use Normal-type Pokémon, but I can't tell you how many I have! I guess I'm pretty well-known in this region, and I totally love my job. And if you win when you challenge me, I'll give you a Plain Badge, just like this one."

She pushed herself up easily, groping in the side pocket of her shorts and sliding out a small, glossed square of plastic.

"Wow!" Ash marveled, struck by the mentally constructed image of that very Badge being pinned to the inside of his well-worn jacket. Glancing up, he saw that a prideful glimmer had lit up Whitney's round eyes.

"It'll be fun battling you!" she laughed. "I won't be easy to beat; plus, my Pokémon are really cute. I can't wait to see the rest of your Pokémon––are they all as sweet as this Pikachu?"

Before Ash could warn her that Pikachu made its discomfort known when in the presence of strangers, Whitney stepped closer, cupping her hands around Pikachu's round middle and lifting it from Ash's shoulder.

Misty smothered a condescending snort behind her wrist, and even Togepi hissed with glee. "I don't think that Ash's Pokémon took on the personality of their Trainer––he's nowhere _near _as nice-tempered as they are."

Whitney's mouth compacted into a tiny circle of astonishment at Misty's confidential statement, but she recovered only a second later. She cuddled Pikachu's fat body against her neck, cooing lovingly at it before she glanced at Misty. Her scrutiny flickered from Ash to Misty, back and forth, before she squared herself boldly in front of them.

"You know what?" she whispered secretively. "You and Ash act like you're siblings. I hardly ever see any boys and girls tease each other like you two do without being angry. You're just as close as a brother and sister, and that's something rare. In fact, that _has _to mean something––if you keep growing up together, then I wouldn't be surprised if you found yourselves connected by the red thread."

"Huh?" Ash blankly looked down at his clothes, as if to ensure that no literal fragments of crimson twine had actually snared his leg to bind him together with Misty. The redhead's reaction to Whitney's declaration was similar, as she also had no clue to what the Gym Leader meant by such a phrase.

"Do you not know what I'm talking about?" Whitney inquired incredulously. "You mean you've never heard about the red thread?"

"Hah! They don't hear much about foreign stories," Brock chuckled, apologetic of his young companions' lack of knowledge as he scrubbed his fingertips into the back of his neck.

"Really?" Whitney pressed her free hand to her lips, almost frightened by the fact of children being so extremely sheltered. "But it's so romantic! I can't believe that you've never been told about it!"

"It sounds important," Ash decided firmly. "If Misty and I are tied together, I need to know what it means. It isn't something that will affect my becoming a Master, is it?" he asked worriedly.

Brock made a small choking sound that may or may not have been a futile attempt at hiding a laugh. "It all depends," he consoled. "See, the legend of the red thread of fate comes from China. They say that there is an invisible red string that is tied between each two people. Although they can't see who their thread is connected to, it will always lead them to the one that they are destined to marry. So, by Whitney saying that you and Misty are connected by a red thread, she's saying that it seems a lot like you two will be married someday."

Before Brock even finished his explanation, Misty's hand had involuntarily shot up to cover her heart, and the gagging gasp that Ash forced out as he nearly dropped his bag of cookies was enough to make Whitney regret making any comment.

"Muh––muh––_married_?"Misty stammered, feeling sweat prickle her forehead. For the first time, Togepi was silent, twisting its oblong body around to stare at Misty's pale face.

Whitney contritely returned Pikachu to Ash, wringing her small hands in frustration. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to upset you. I just thought that you two look so cute, and the way you treat each other is family-like. I didn't know that it'd scare you––I'm really sorry, kids!"

Brock stepped behind Ash and Misty, gently patting their backs in a comforting gesture. "It's alright, guys," he teased, just to smooth out the tension that tightened their backbones. "Whitney was only kidding. In fact, when I was talking to her just a few minutes ago, she told me that _my _red thread was tied to a girl who was selling oranges out on the street!"

* * *

><p>"Did you hear that?" Jessie whipped her head around to gauge the expressions of her teammates, her long tail of red hair nearly toppling Meowth from his place perched on the windowsill.<p>

"What part?" James quietly asked. "You mean that old tale about the red string of fate? It _is _a legend that I rather fancy. I wish it was true."

"Who says it isn't true?" Jessie waggled her powerful fist in front of James's nose as if to threaten him into retracting his sensible opinion. "I, for one, would love to know who my red thread is connected to. I just know I'm tied to some rich, handsome blond devil."

James huffed, crouching closer to the ground and appearing very much ruffled by Jessie's high expectations. "Well, I would bet that _mine _is tied to––"

Jessie cut his sentence off with an exaggerated yawn. "I don't want to hear about the last guy you saw in a locker room. The red thread is saved for _real _romance, not things that happen in your imagination."

If he had seemed ruffled before, now James looked indignant beyond comprehensible measure. He clenched his hands in his lap, closing his fingers around the loose white denim of his uniform trousers and glaring with suppressed fury at a defenseless sheath of grass that poked from a dip in the silty ground.

"Hey, Jess," Meowth piped hopefully, "d'ya think that maybe Pokémon have red t'reads, too?"

"Probably not," Jessie said authoritatively, her flat tone proving her lack of concern for Meowth's affairs. When Meowth's large cupped ears drooped at the sides of his oversized head with disappointment, James stretched to loop his arms around him, lifting him from the windowsill to snuggle him against his chest.

"It's okay, Meowth," he soothed, murmuring against the cat's whiskers. "Actually, I believe that romance is just as important to Pokémon as it is to people. I'm sure that you have a red thread, and that it's tied to someone who's just as nice and annoying as you are."

"Aw, gee t'anks, James," Meowth sarcastically said, but when his wide yellow eyes blinked, any traces of remorse that had been in them was vanished. Comfortably, he settled himself between James's legs, draping his coiled tail over James's knee and sighing.

"So what're we here for, again?" James wondered, resting the heel of his hand on the top of Meowth's head and absentmindedly stroking the fur that surrounded the feline's brass charm. "I mean, I know that we're here for the twerps, but what were you saying about that Gym Leader girl?"

Still staring into the store window, her watchful gaze tearing over her rivals and Whitney as they made innocent conversation, Jessie grit her teeth against a feral growl.

"As soon as that girl gets out of the store, that's when we put on our aprons and tell her that we're the Pokémon Evaluators. She picks a trait that she wants to know her Pokémon have, and we simply take her Poké Balls and say that we'll be back from examining them. Of course, though, we don't actually bring _her _Balls back. We give her those empty ones that you always carry around."

"Isn't it serious business to take Pokémon from Gym Leaders?" James inquired, unsure of whether or not he wanted to join Jessie in this particular raid. Meowth sat upright, his snout creasing as he scowled.

"Yes, it's serious!" he barked. "But that's what we're after, isn't it? Would you rather go after some low-level Pokémon that you can find swarmin' all over the place, or take some well-trained, rare ones without hardly any effort?"

Mulling over those options, James shrugged uncertainly. "Am I a sissy if I say I'm afraid to?"

Bored with this display of utter cowardice, Meowth bounced dextrously from James's lap, landing with little more than a soft thump on the wide windowsill.

"I say it's too late for that," he muttered snidely. Jessie nodded in agreement, and her mouth opened to add a verbal insult, but before she was given the chance to, she rocked back on her heels, a sudden glow of joy adding color to her face.

"I just heard them!" she cried. "That girl told the twerps good-bye. She's getting ready to leave! Come on," she urged impatiently, pinching James's shirt sleeve and yanking on it. "We have to go around to the back to change into our other outfits. You too, Meowth."

Jessie slipped past the window first, the soles of her long boots softly tapping against the ground as she sneaked by. James stole closely behind her, bending toward the earth to keep his shock of lilac hair from the view of any who may have been peering out the window. Crawling on all fours, Meowth followed them, his back arched and his tail tightly curled. They crept along in this fashion, keeping themselves beside the border of the department store building until they were behind it, engulfed safely in the enormous blue shadow that it cast over the grass.

"Here are our clothes," Jessie whispered, stalking to a patch of fallen leaves. She kicked them away, revealing a small box that had been hidden there. A price tag pasted on its flap proved that the articles of clothing had been borrowed from a cheap rental market, but James didn't bother to ask how much Jessie had paid as she tore the box open, pulling out two plastic-wrapped dresses. She carelessly tossed one over her shoulder, not noticing as James lurched forward to snag it before it fell.

"I'm wearing _this_?" he bluntly questioned, peeling the garment from its wrapping. "It's quite unattractive."

"Then it's made just for you," Jessie snapped. She was already reaching behind her neck, struggling to unzip her midriff shirt. Shedding it, she slid her hands down her side until her fingers met the seam of her miniskirt, and she quickly twisted it down her thighs, ignoring it as it pooled stiffly around her feet. Standing shamelessly in only her undergarments, she paid no attention at all to James as he undressed behind her.

"This dress is dumpy," James complained, fighting to get the rolls of fabric over his head. "I do wish that you had gotten me something flattering, at least, if not a suit." His voice was muffled as the heavy skirt of the dress covered his face, and he angrily jerked it down, covering his bare legs with the hills of coarse, scratchy material.

"Do you want to throw a parade in front of the twerps to tell them that you're a Rocket? Good grief, James, which brat are you aiming to impress? The bossy redheaded girl? Or the tan biggest twerp? Or even the little one with Pikachu?" Jessie tucked the frills of the dress in at her waist, attempting to accentuate her slender figure with the thick skirt ballooning out at her hips. Swiping away nonexistent flecks of dust from her homely outfit, she did not see the flustered blush that coated James's cheeks at her taunt.

"Now, on to the Pokémon!" she exclaimed, a bit too triumphantly for only just having begun their plan of thievery. She bounded forward, her face aglow with anticipation of how pleased their employer would be once they returned with their arms full of Poké Balls. James lagged behind unenthusiastically, nearly tripping over the hem of his skirt––ready to kick something in irritation, he pulled the skirt up in bundles, carrying it rather than letting it inhibit his walking. Meowth scuttled after him, averting his gaze both politely and disgustedly.

Jessie was far ahead of them, now, and James winced as she began to squeal excitedly. "Oh, my––! Could it be that you––you're _Whitney_? The beautiful Gym Leader of Goldenrod?"

James gave a long-suffering sigh, but even as he acknowledged his exasperation with Jessie, he knew that he was often just as over the top as she. But as he and Meowth approached, he bent his mouth into a perfect white smile that radiated cheer and friendliness, dropping his skirt and bouncing lightly to shake the wrinkles loose.

"You've found them, Jess––I mean, there you are!" Expecting that this remark would bring the twerps to believe that he had been rushing after his teammate in a flurry of exhilaration, James clumsily stumbled alongside Jessie and made a show of pretending to catch his breath. Recovering quickly and fanning himself delicately, he closed his eyes and grinned widely at Whitney.

"I can't believe it," he said, his voice still laden with curt panting. "You are one of my role models––you're just adorable, and one of my dreams is to make my Pokémon just as beautiful as yours!"

Startled, Whitney closely studied James through squinted eyes. "Thank you, ma'am," she said slowly, drawing the last syllable out in confusion. But James was not yet finished––bending down, he grabbed Meowth's head, pulling him up and waving his body like a limp doll in front of Whitney's face.

"See? I wish I had half the talent that you do. My Pokémon are unbearably ugly, just like this one," he whined, shaking Meowth to and fro and practically feeling the cat's brains slosh around in his skull. Meowth was too stunned to protest by any means other than staring dumbly at the astonished expressions of Ash, Misty, Brock, and Whitney.

"Um... I think that Meowth are very cute," Whitney stammered, almost as if she was afraid that James would begin crying over the trifle matter. "And... um... Pokémon are only as pretty as the Trainer believes! If you treated that poor Meowth better," this was when she began wiggling her finger in superiority, "maybe you two could be closer and you'd see just how cute it really is."

"Really?" James jerked Meowth closer, hugging him tightly and increasing the strength of his grip until he heard the muffled crack of joints bending under pressure. Then, he smiled brightly, tilting his head so his loose curtain of hair fell over Meowth's snout.

"Well, thank you," he giggled. "My Meowth is very precious to me, though he's not at all cute, and I simply love him to _death_." He made sure to emphasize the final word as he jostled Meowth's flaccid body in his arms.

Before the situation could become potentially harmful, Jessie intervened skillfully. "What my friend and I came over to tell isn't about _our_ Pokémon," she said, almost contritely, but masking her apology with a laugh. "We just couldn't get over how successful, amazing, and talented you are, especially at such a young age. So we thought that, because you are such a remarkable Gym Leader, we would offer our services absolutely free of charge!"

"Services? What sort of services?" Whitney blinked quizzically, and sent Brock a sidelong glance as if to learn some sort of clue to what was happening. Inevitably, Brock's mouth was open in a half-circle of shock, and Whitney really was unable to tell whether or not his eyes were open.

"Why, our services as Pokémon Evaluators!" Jessie said gleefully, spreading her palms wide. "We have a very special job. See, you give us your Pokémon, and we will examine them and determine with an expert eye just what trait is most strong in them! It's very useful to know what nature your Pokémon have, so you can better develop those traits."

In awe, Whitney clasped her hands behind her back, absorbing this information. "That sounds wonderful!" she gushed. "I'd adore it if you two would check my Pokémon––it's so nice of you to do it for free."

With this said, she began to fumble in her oversized purse, withdrawing one gleaming Poké Ball after another. Jessie eagerly took them, stowing each one in the deep pockets of her apron. When six Poké Balls were safely tucked away in Jessie's possession, she blew a soft sigh of relief. Feeling very accomplished, she smugly smirked at Whitney and looped her arm with James's.

"Well, we'll be going, now," she announced slyly, and this sudden change of attitude puzzled Whitney. "You wait here, and we'll be back in twenty minutes!" Jessie lead James away, and her bouncy gait proved her bubbling gaiety––still held tightly by James, Meowth's short legs dangled from side to side.

"That was weird," Ash proclaimed, his voice scratching with anxiety. "I've never heard of Pokémon Evaluators." From his shoulder, Pikachu echoed his concerns with an unnerved squeak.

"Normally, I'd say that I'm not surprised you haven't heard of something," Brock declared, rubbing his finger over his chin thoughtfully. "But I've never heard of an Evaluator, either. Those girls seemed to know what they were doing, though."

"Oh, people are constantly coming up with new things," Whitney offhandedly said. "I'm sure they're good, since they offered to examine my Pokémon for free. Anyway, we'll just have to wait to see what they tell us when they come back!"

Brock hummed in agreement, curious to hear the results, as well.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>And so it begins. If you are a RocketShipper angry with me for pairing your precious James with someone other than Jess, I commend you for reading these 4700 words. Just please, don't spam up my inbox with "proof" of RocketShipping and the episodes that this "evidence" comes from. I get where you're coming from, though. Jessie is the only cute girl in the series, and if one believes in heterosexual James, then this makes sense. But I honestly don't believe in heterosexual James, so I don't care. Let me have my fun.


	2. Heart's Desire

**RED THREAD OF FATE**

**Summary: **The imaginary red thread of destined love was wrapping itself around James's throat. The red thread was supposed to bind him and Brock together, not pull them apart. The red thread shouldn't have let Brock cheat on his passion. The red thread lied.

**Author's Note: **This chapter is short. Shorter than what I'd like, but there's always a point where one can go no further. So I left it as it is to start the next chapter. I've been writing so much RocketShipping lately that I forgot about the twerps––even Brock. I have about twelve different stories I need to post... my, but I'm lazy.

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER TWO: <strong>_Heart's Desire_

"This is fantastic," Jessie exclaimed jubilantly. Shaking her apron, she dislodged all six Poké Balls, which rolled haphazardly across the dusty floor of the old garden shed.

"It really wasn't so bad taking them," James admitted, crouching next to Jessie, his skirts spilling over the filthy concrete ground. "I should think that it would have been rougher on my conscience, but it really didn't feel that bad. Perhaps it was because I had little to do with it––you were the one who took them."

Meowth shook his head violently, the brass charm on his brow catching the soft sunlight and sending glares of yellow over the shadowed crates that were piled along all the walls in the dark room.

"Jess could've gone and done it herself," he said, thoroughly vexed. "I don't see _why _ol' Jimmy had to rattle me up. I can still feel somethin' swimmin' behind my eyes!"

"Sorry," James apologized automatically. He gave Meowth a pat on the head that made up for his unfeeling words.

"Get over it, you two," Jessie sighed, standing up and smacking her hands against her apron. "James, why don't you go get those empty Poké Balls? I'll pack these prizes away in one of the paper bags we brought."

"Oh, Jessie," James interjected dolefully. "The empty Balls are all the way back behind the department store, in the pocket of my uniform slacks. I don't want to go alone."

"Pity that," said Jessie, unsympathetically. "Now you fetch them, unless you want me and Meowth to walk those two miles into the woods to our balloon without you."

"I'll go," James quickly decided, having been given those generous options. Catching up his skirt in determination, he crept to the door; peeking through the slit between the door and frame, he ensured that there were no individuals around to pry in his business. Once the environment was deemed safe, he tugged the door open, its rusted hinges whining in protest, and scurried across the poorly kept lawn. The brown grass crunched beneath his boots, and he suspiciously glanced from side to side before continuing his trek. He felt oddly small without Jessie at his side to serve as a sort of shield, and his head felt abnormally light without Meowth perched atop it. Nevertheless, he pushed aside his helplessness of being without his companions and pressed through the heavy traffic lining the sidewalks.

The thought of passing one of the twerps on his way to the department store was in no near vicinity of his mind, and, despite him and Jessie putting nearly all of their energy into devising schemes to rid themselves of those very twerps, he honestly would admit that he was not thinking of them at all. He watched the odd flecks of glitter in the sidewalk sparkle as he intentionally pushed himself ahead in long, even strides, and to any passerby, he would have appeared to be entirely unattached from his surroundings.

It seemed as if the very second he chose to lift his head, merely to gauge the distance between himself and the market, a loud, vaguely familiar male voice cut through the sound of rumbling vehicle engines and dull conversations.

"Hey! Excuse me, ma'am!"

_Oh, please no. _James's shoulders went stiff with fear, and he deliberately kept walking, quickening his pace to a trot. His hair whipped back from his face, his fringe tweaked by the wind, and the stray strands that blew into his eyes made him blink and slow down to wipe them away.

"Hold up, miss! Wait for me!"

Although the masculine voice _had _been far enough away for James to think an escape was possible, it was now right behind his shoulder. He cringed, knowing well that this predicament would not be gentle with him––he felt a warm gust of panting breath skim across his neck, and an odd, crinkly sort of shudder slid down his back and drew his posture up straight.

"I was wondering if you'd heard me or not," the voice rasped weakly, and James realized that he had been running to catch up with him. But why had that annoyingly intelligent largest twerp been intent on catching his attention? James forced some amount of strength into swallowing back the prickles that stung his throat.

"I––I––I didn't realize that you were following, me, sir," he fibbed, his voice clicking into his husky, purring falsetto imitation of the female pitch. "Indeed I didn't. I only assumed you were following some other perfect stranger on the street."

Brock noticed the foul bite of sarcasm in James's words, and immediately sidestepped to stand in front of him. He glared stonily into James's downcast eyes, and opened his mouth once, twice, as if protest, but he didn't. Instead, he folded his arms in front of his chest, and his expression transformed from a searching scowl into a dazzling smile.

"Why aren't you with your friend?" he asked, and James was startled by Brock's asking something deviating from the subject. Warily, he returned the smile in a smaller degree.

"Oh, she went down to the laboratory," he nonchalantly said. "I'm actually on my way to the department store now for supplies, so if you will pardon me, I need to tend to my errand."

With this, he attempted to dodge Brock's firm figure blocking his way, but the young man took a wide step to the right, not allowing him enough room to squeeze past. James's fingers tingled instinctively, and he wanted little more than to bring the toe of his boot directly up in the soft area between Brock's legs. But, as he was skillfully playing the role of a sweet woman, he shook the idea free and instead decided nervously to dance along with Brock's questions. He could feel sweat beading along his temples from anxiety, and he suddenly felt too warm. Uneasily, he hooked his finger beneath the high collar of his dress, plucking at it to loosen its constriction on his neck.

"I was wondering, miss," Brock said politely, oblivious to James's discomfort, "about this talk of Pokémon Evaluation. I've never heard of Evaluators before, and I'm always brushed up in my studies and everyday knowledge, so I was wanted to know if it was some new sort of profession."

"Oh, you're one of those clever boys, aren't you?" James laughed lightly, but tension made it sound more a tittering ripple than a true sign of mirth. His mind was racing, his thoughts tripping over one another in their haste––_I never expected this. He's asking about a fake job? What am I to do––there's nothing I can do to get out of this other than making something up. He'll never find out until he asks someone else, anyway, and by then, I'll be long gone._

"Well," James began, clearing his throat awkwardly to catch two precious seconds. "You see... um, what would you like to know? I can't very well answer unasked questions!"

Pleased with himself for earning another moment to conjure up a theme of lies, James waited for Brock's answer. But despite James's awkwardness, Brock seemed almost smug, and this very much bothered James.

"Let's see...," Brock mused. "Can you tell me where they offer Pokémon Evaluation courses for students? Because actually, that sounds like something I'd like to get into, besides breeding. It'd be useful to breed Pokémon together that share those predominant traits you and your partner were telling Whitney about earlier. That was really interesting."

"You think so?" James felt a horrid itch creep into the very middle of his shoulder blades, and he clenched his teeth against it. He knew his dress was going to be damp with perspiration before this ordeal ended.

"Um, I don't know if they do it anymore, but back in my school days, they taught specialty courses like Evaluation down in, um, Saffron City. Yes, that was it––Peppercorn College. They have marvelous teachers."

Brock smirked slyly, and James blanched. He felt the majority of the color drain from his face as Brock said,

"I'm not sure, but I believe that Peppercorn is an all-boys college. How did _you _apply for a course there?" The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he wished to grin over James's agony, but could not.

"Is it now?" James stammered uncertainly. _And I bungle things yet again. _"It must have been somewhere else, then. I can't remember––my college days were quite some time ago."

Brock's eyebrow rose challengingly. "You can't be older than twenty. Your school days couldn't have been that long ago."

James recognized the buzz of panic drumming in the rear of his skull. What was Brock doing? Was he purposely, honestly attempting to extract some form of information from him? There could be no other reason for his determination in meddling.

"I guess not," James admitted, stirring a shallow giggle from his tight throat. "But as I told you, it must have been the college on the other side of the region that I went to. Or something."

James realized how terribly he was lying––he could always think of better untruths. Why was it now that he failed to bring up a believable falsehood? But––and this startled James, sending deep chills through his limbs––Brock seemed convinced, and did not prod any further.

"Thanks for telling me," he said gratefully, extending his open hand toward James. James regarded this gesture for a moment, and glumly tucked his small hand into Brock's large palm. Withdrawing, he hurried to lace his fingers together, innocently hiding his arms behind his back.

"Don't worry about it," he beamed, his lips feeling stiff from the forced smile. "If you have any other questions, please ask them once my partner and I return with Ms. Whitney's Poké Balls."

"I will," Brock promised. That same self-righteousness wormed its way back into his countenance as he added, "I'll see you in a while. I had better be going before Ash and Misty wonder where I've gone. 'Bye, James."

"Yes, goodbye, Br––_what_?" At hearing his name, James veered back around, staring blankly at Brock and his satisfied little grin: "What did you say?"

Brock hummed, clearing enjoying James's sudden speechlessness. "I told you 'bye. Should I not have?"

"No! I mean––" James spluttered, holding up his hands in despair. "How'd you realize that it was me?" The very emotion of terror grabbed at him, and he felt all the height of four inches.

"Well, there aren't many men I know who like to parade the streets in frocks," Brock reminded bluntly. "And it's pretty easy for me to tell it's you when you're running around with Jessie and your Meowth. Like I said, I'm pretty smart. I'm no idiot."

"T––then why did you..." There was no purpose in denying it was he. James bit down into the thick flesh of his tongue as Brock gave an uproarious laugh.

"What? Why do I go along with your schemes?" Brock's smirk was crooked with pleasure as he rested his weight on one foot, his shadow spreading over the sidewalk. A horrid shade of gray began to eat at the edges of James's vision, and the oppressing warmth was suffocating. He struggled to slide his fingers down the collar of his dress, unhooking the buttons so the corners of the stiff fabric fell flat, exposing his neck enough for him to wave a breeze toward himself. Brock ignored this apparent pretense of fainting, believing it to be only one more last attempt of James's to gain his pity.

"What's wrong, now?" he asked, fully expecting yet another snide remark. But James only clamped his hand over his mouth, and without further warning, bolted ahead, furiously shoving Brock out of his way. Brock flailed to regain his balance, and wordlessly watched as James clumsily clattered away, his arm outstretched as if reaching for support.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Brock isn't smart all the time, but he's not really stupid, either. Some of Team Rocket's disguises are so pathetic that one would have to be blind to not know it's them. Since when did a pair of glasses become a disguise? Anyway, I think that Brock (and possibly both Ash and Misty) realize it's Team Rocket, but they would rather ignore it just for kicks. Just to lead them into believing that they duped them, in order to later crush their souls. Real role-models, there, Japan.


End file.
